


Balancing Acts

by unfolded73



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-11-23
Updated: 2004-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: THIS IS AN UNFINISHED FIC THAT I WILL NEVER COMPLETE. Archiving it here, that's all.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, it looks like I had some great ideas for a post-Not Fade Away (Angel series finale) fic, but I no longer know what they were. Also my writing had really improved, somehow.

She came to wakefulness quickly, opening her eyes without moving any other muscles. The heavy curtains were drawn shut so that just the tiniest sliver of light was visible, leaving the room drenched in that unnatural hotel room darkness that hints that the world has somehow passed you by while you were sleeping. She glanced quickly at the red LED readout on the digital clock: 7:23. _Not late_ , she thought, relieved. Buffy sighed, rolling over and taking in the sleeping form on the other side of the expansive king-sized bed. Only his dark hair and one tanned shoulder were visible. A half-smile touched her lips before she slipped out of bed, donning her discarded clothes with quiet efficiency.

She padded over to the desk, seeing where her room key and purse had been hastily discarded. She hesitated, then snatched up the complimentary pen and paper from the desk blotter and carried them over to the narrow bit of daylight so that she could see well enough to write. The swirly H logo and the words "Tunis Hilton" were discernible at the top of the elegant paper.

_Mike,_

_Last night was great. Sorry to run out but I have a plane to catch. Good luck with everything,_

_B._

She wasn't even sure if he'd remember what the B stood for, but it really didn't matter, did it? Glancing at his sleeping form one more time, she tossed the pen and paper back on the desk, gathered her belongings and left the room, easing the door shut with a click. 

Buffy stood staring at the room door for a moment, taking in the number: 203. She needed to take the elevator up to her room, shower, change, and be on her way to the airport in half an hour. _Doable_ , she thought, nodding to herself and jogging to the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

She had met Mike at the hotel bar two nights ago. He had been smooth as silk, asking her all the right questions and talking to her about his job as a photojournalist with just the right balance of ego and self-depreciation. They had spoken for maybe half an hour before she bowed out to make it to her scheduled appointment. The next night, same time, Mike was there again. He knew the game well, hinting that he had come to the bar that evening on the hopes of seeing her again, managing to flatter her and alleviate any worries that he was a frequent drinker in one stroke. Another more flirtatious conversation led to dinner led to a walk on the beach led to sex. Good sex; his warm skin against hers had been a balm for her scattered thoughts and constant need to be going, going, going. Still, she wondered how long before she forgot him entirely, his face fading into the depths of her memory like she might forget a good meal she'd once had.

After a shower and a quick and competent job of packing born out of long experience, Buffy headed out into the already blinding sunlight of the warm Tunisian morning. She allowed the doorman to hail her a cab and while she waited she glanced around, spotting a boy selling copies of the London Times. Buying a copy, she got into her procured cab and scanned the headlines, her eyes finally settling on the date as the cab pulled away from the hotel. May 20, 2006. _How could it be?_ she thought, staring out the window at the brightly-colored shops and bustling tourists. _How could it be two years already?_

*****

_May 20, 2004_

She sat next to a shivering Dawn on the cold vinyl of the London cab's back seat, staring out at a decidedly gray day. They were dressed in short skirts and strappy tops, having just gotten off the plane from Rome's temperate spring, and this drizzly English weather only served to remind Buffy why she'd jumped at the chance to go to Italy the previous summer. England had been the antithesis to Southern California, and while the change was welcome at first, eventually she had needed to be elsewhere. Somewhere that was sunnier and warmer and … _away_. Away from her friends and Giles and her memories. Rome had been perfect, and Dawn had loved it, feeling grown up and glamorous and worldly. Things changed though.

"This sucks," Dawn whined, looking out the window and pulling on the hem of her skirt. "How much longer?"

"I don't know," Buffy muttered. "I never was much for the navigation here. Shouldn't be too far though." She reached out and patted Dawn's knee. "It'll be OK."

Dawn smirked at her sister. "You know, you sure have been extra nice to me the last couple of days. But I still haven't forgiven you for getting us kicked out of Rome."

Buffy sputtered. "We weren't _kicked out_. I just thought it would be better for all concerned-"

"You just thought since you broke the heart of the most powerful man in Italy who is, by the way, just a tiny bit _evil_ , that we better get the hell out of dodge?"

Buffy started to argue, still sort of a knee-jerk reaction in conversations with her sister, then decided it wasn't worth it, Dawn being right anyway. "Yeah, something like that," she said under her breath.

Dawn lifted her head from the seat and squinted at Buffy, unsure for a moment how to respond. "It's OK," she said finally. "Probably for the best, right? You said you were starting to feel disconnected from all the new Council stuff."

"Right."

"And now you'll be more in the thick of it."

"Right." _But is that a good thing or a bad thing?_ she wondered. The last year away from the responsibilities and danger and apocalypse had been the best year of her adult life, problems with the Immortal notwithstanding. She speculated not for the first time that coming back to England was a huge mistake.

The cab slowed in front of an imposing wrought-iron fence on a mainly residential street in a genteel neighborhood. Dawn and Buffy spilled out of the cab and onto the damp sidewalk. It being a Thursday afternoon, the street was quiet. Dawn looked up at the three-story stone house set well back from the road. "Are they expecting us?" The cab driver began to unload their numerous bags onto the sidewalk.

Buffy followed her gaze as she fished around in her voluminous purse for a wallet. "I'm pretty sure. I talked to Giles yesterday and told him when our flight was getting here." Finding her wallet, she started to open it, then looked up at Dawn guiltily. "Got any English money?"

Dawn rolled her eyes, then fished in her own purse and proffered the desired cash. "Observe me not pointing out how I'm always prepared for these situations and you never are." 

"Observe me in awe of your giant and superior brain. Now let's get someone to help us with these bags." The gate was kept locked for security, but there was a small white buzzer mounted on it. Buffy marched over and jabbed the buzzer. After a few seconds she jabbed it again… and again.

Dawn furrowed her brow, then pushed the button herself, as if all the problem needed was a superior buzzer operator to get through to the people inside. Buffy started to look worried. "Could there really be no one here?" She paced back and forth, looking up at the high fence. She could climb it and jump over, assuming there weren't magical deterrents to that sort of activity, which there probably were. Dawn continued to push the buzzer, and finally on the fifth try it crackled to life. 

"Yeh, um, yes? Hello?" 

"Giles? Thank God! It's Dawn! Can you let us in?" Buffy rushed over to join her sister at the tinny speaker.

"Oh… Oh! Right! Just a moment…" They heard a buzzing sound followed by a loud click, and the gate swung inwards on well-oiled hinges. Buffy and Dawn shrugged, then began gathering up their copious baggage.

"No, that's OK, Giles, we don't need any help with our bags, no problem," Buffy grumbled as she struggled up the walk behind Dawn, who was also weighted down. Buffy was again reminded that slayer strength was not always as useful as people thought, neither making one's arms longer nor affecting the volume of the things to be carried. Not that that prevented people from occasionally trying to load her up like a pack horse, or, just for example, not coming to help her carry things. The young women mounted the steps up the house and dropped their bags outside the front door. Buffy opened the heavy wooden door and they slipped inside.

The original home of the Council of Watchers had been reduced to a smoking ruin by Caleb during the "Year of the First Evil," as they had taken to calling it. When Giles and a quorum of Scoobies and Slayers had first convened in England after the destruction of Sunnydale, they had to quickly find a place that would serve as residence, training area, classroom, and research library. Fortunately, this imposing three-story house built in the early 20th century had been languishing on the market for several months due to its size and associated price tag. It was essentially a mansion squatting in an upper-middle class neighborhood full of nice but not nearly so gargantuan structures, so anyone who could afford the house could afford to live somewhere better. With the money that he was able to procure from one of the Council's various accounts, Giles had been able to buy the house without much trouble. While not an ideal location for the burgeoning Slayer school and growing ranks of new Watchers, it worked fairly well.

She opened the door and was struck by several things all at once. The sound of running footsteps came from an upstairs floor; there was a vague wrongness in the air, almost like a static charge, that made the fine hairs on Buffy's arm stand up, and she heard the sound of a woman's cry that made her instinctively reach toward her bag for a weapon that, thanks to airport security, she did not have. Before either Buffy or Dawn could verbalize their confusion, Giles dashed into the room.

"Buffy! Dawn. So … so good to see you. I fear I had forgotten…" He glanced upstairs. He was sweating and carrying a wet washcloth.

"Giles." Buffy's voice came out hard, but slightly tremulous. "Something's going on. What happened? Is someone hurt?" She approached him cautiously, irrationally fearing that in his agitated state he might bolt from the room.

"No… no. Well, per- perhaps. It's still rather difficult to understand exactly what has happened." He glanced upstairs again, a desperately worried expression on his face. "I really need to get back up there…"

"Fine. We'll follow you. Just … tell us what's going on, please." Buffy escorted Giles to the grand staircase the dominated the entryway, Dawn trailing behind.

Giles took a deep breath and audibly let it out. "A few hours ago, three of the witches from the Westbury coven showed up here. They had become aware of - it's difficult to explain. They had become aware of a huge … shift in the balance."

"Balance of what?" Dawn asked.

"Good and evil, in manner of speaking, although it's really much more complicated than that. That aside, they needed to know more and they thought Willow could help them."

"Because thanks to her dabbling with world destroyage, she's all connected to everything," supposed Buffy.

Giles smiled a small smile. "Yes, that's one way of putting it."

"So what's the what? Did they do one of those joint spells? Did they find out anything?"

By now they were walking down the main hallway on the second floor. Before Giles could respond to any of Buffy's questions, one of the bedroom doors opened and a brown-skinned young woman whom Buffy had never seen before bolted out of the room. "Oh, Mr. Giles," she panted, "Thank God. She is no better. Can you?" she pleaded, gesturing into the room.

Giles rushed into the dimly lit bedroom and sat on the edge of the large four poster bed. Lying under the covers was a small woman with long black and gray streaked hair. Muttering and writhing, the woman appeared to be in the throes of a fever dream. Her brow was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and her hands clawed uselessly at the coverlet that had been carefully tucked around her. Giles put the damp cloth on her forehead, picking up one hand to feel the pulse at her wrist.

Dawn was the first to speak as they all stood ineffectually near the door. "What's wrong with her?"

"The spell. I don't know what they touched, but whatever it was, it was powerful. And, I fear, evil." Giles took off his glasses and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Are they all like this? Is Willow?" Buffy asked, fearing the answer.

"Willow was mercifully unconscious the last I checked on her," Giles replied. 

Buffy turned and bolted from the room, heading for the stairs and up to the third floor where she guessed Willow's room to be. Her heart had settled into the familiar quick rhythm of fear for her friends' safety. The fact that it was a familiar feeling was in and of itself disturbing. Willow's room had to be the one at the end of the hall; when they had first looked at the house she had fallen in love with its bay window that looked over the tops of the trees in the neighborhood. Buffy slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door, peeking into the room. The curtains were drawn and in the dim light she could only just make out a quiet form lying on the bed. As she slipped into the room, another young woman started up from the window seat and came over to her. "Hi. You're Buffy, right?"

"That's me." Buffy looked more closely at the bed. Willow did appear to be unconscious, or at least deeply asleep.

"I'm Elina. I came from Finland about four months ago." She looked at Willow. "You know what happened?"

"A little." Buffy went over and sat on the edge of the bed, scanning the face of her oldest and dearest friend.

"It's so crazy," said Elina in a hushed and excited voice. "I mean can you believe it? Magic that can-"

Buffy whirled to face the babbling young girl, interrupting her midstream. "Why don't you go see if Giles needs some help. I'll stay with Willow." Her tone left no room for argument.

"OK," Elina replied tentatively, backing out of the room. "See you later."

Buffy didn't reply, turning back to look into Willow's drawn, pale face. The heaviness of guilt pressed against her chest. They hadn't spoken much in the last several months. There had been Scooby teleconferences which Buffy had dutifully phoned in for and then half-listened to as she painted her toenails or looked at the pictures in an Italian fashion magazine. She had to admit to herself that she wasn't sure what was going on with Willow these days, especially since she'd left South America to return permanently to England. She had had to hear through Xander that Willow and Kennedy had broken up. Buffy frowned as tears pressed against the back of her eyes. She'd been a bad friend again. After all this time, that shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. Buffy picked up Willow's cold hand and pressed it between both of her own, squeezing her eyes shut as tears overflowed her eyelids onto the bedspread and onto their hands. After a few moments, the sound of a gasp brought Buffy's eyes open with a snap. Willow's eyes looked into her own.

"Will! Can you hear me? Are you hurt?" Buffy squeezed her hand tightly.

"I hear you. I _heard_ you … in my head." Her voice was raspy and small. "I felt you pulling me out of there, out of the dark." She looked around desperately. "The spell- Where are the others? Where's Miss Hartness?"

"Willow, right now I think you should rest--"

"NO." Willow sat up with more force than Buffy would've thought she had in her. "Get Giles. I have to tell him-" Her eyes widened and she looked at Buffy with a mixture of surprise and sadness. "I remember. Get everybody. _Now._ "

The group assembled in the library of the house, a luxurious room that brought to mind Victorian gentlemen smoking pipes and discussing imperial strategy. Bookshelves ran the length of the room from floor to ceiling. Leather chairs were drawn close to the fireplace, where Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Andrew were currently gathered. Giles came in with two young women who were vaguely familiar to Buffy, though she couldn't remember their names. They hadn't been in Sunnydale but had been here since close to the beginning almost a year ago. 

"Willow, I don't know if I should leave the others," Giles said as he entered the room. 

"I doubt there's much you can do for them, Giles," Willow replied from her position in the most comfortable chair. "You said the other members of the coven are on their way?"

"Yes, I called them not long after it happened, so they should be here soon."

"They can handle it. The witches just need someone close to them to anchor them and bring them back to this plane. Like I had," she added, smiling at Buffy. "Things were so chaotic that we got lost and couldn't help each other. I was adrift," she said, staring far into the distance.

"Fine," Giles sighed, slumping into a chair, clearly exhausted. "Willow, what happened?"

"Bear with me because I haven't tried to explain this to anyone yet." Willow drew shaky hands through her hair and took a deep breath. "We knew, we _felt_ , that something major had happened. But we couldn't tell what or where or, you know, _anything_ useful."

"But you felt a great disturbance in the force," said Andrew, nodding sagely.

Willow glanced at Andrew briefly, then directed her attention back to the room at large. "Yeah. Anyway, we linked and tried to use the astral plane to find the source of the weirdness."

Buffy leaned forward, curious. "And you found what exactly?"

"This is where it gets hard to explain. We found that the whole balance of everything was thrown off. I can't really explain it any better than that. Things just felt off-kilter and _wrong_. So we followed it to the source, so to speak." Willow paused as if she wasn't sure how to go on.

"And where was this source?" asked Giles.

"L.A." Before anyone could respond to that, Willow barreled on. "Giles, have you ever heard of the Circle of the Black Thorn?"

"Rumors in the Council, little else. I thought it was a myth."

"From what I could see, it's definitely not a myth. It's like a fraternity of uber-evil. Or it was. They're pretty much all dead now. Which explains all the imbalancey stuff."

" _How_ are they all dead?" asked Dawn.

"Angel," Willow replied simply.

Giles sat forward in his chair, excited. "So you're saying… well, this is extraordinary. He must have used his position within Wolfram and Hart to find out who the members were and get close enough to take them out. Which would mean-"

"Which would mean that we were wrong to mistrust him," supplied Buffy. "Well, good for Angel. Way to stick it to the man."

"That's not all," said Willow. "The powers-that-be-evil were understandably pissed off by the assassinations. So they rallied the troops. The battle I saw … I don't know if I can put it into words. It was, forgive me for the Andrew-like geek hyperbole, but it was like something out of Tolkein." 

Buffy started to pace. "You're saying a whole battalion of bad came crashing down on Angel."

"Not just on Angel. Guys, I don't know how to put this, and I may have been confused. Things were very confusing. But I swear that I saw Spike too."

Dawn jumped out of her seat and Buffy stopped suddenly in her circuit around the group, staring hard at Willow. Then she laughed nervously. "You must've been confused, Will. I mean I told you all… I know what I saw happen …" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "He burned. He's gone."

Willow shook her head as if trying to clear it. "I know, Buffy, I know." Willow closed her eyes and took several slow breaths before she started to speak again. When she did it sounded like the testimony of someone under hypnosis. "It's early morning, maybe an hour before the first light of dawn. There's a great hoard of demons and creatures that I've never imagined bearing down on something in a dirty alley. I look closer at the focal point of the battle. Things are happening so fast it's hard to see. I see Angel. He's wet and tired and bleeding, but fighting, surrounded by corpses and demon parts. It's pretty gruesome. I see a blue woman." Willow frowns. "She's familiar but… no, she is alien. She reaches out and _rips the spine out_ of her adversary. Yikes. Behind her, a man is crouched on the ground. He is very badly hurt. Then I see … I see Spike. He's armed with a sword and fighting a flying demon. He-" Willow twitched, as if something suddenly passed very close to her eyes, but they remained closed. "I can't see him now…" Finally, her eyes opened, and if possible she looked even more exhausted. "Sorry, that's all I could see."

Buffy knelt down in front of Willow's chair, stroking her hair. "You did good, Will. But it can't be Spike. Maybe somebody who looks like him-"

"No. It's Spike." 

It was Andrew's turn to jump up and pace, but he was quickly interrupted by Dawn, who grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the nearest wall. "What," she said through clenched teeth, tightening her grip and eliciting a squeak from Andrew, "are you talking about."

"I'll second that," declared Buffy, standing up and approaching the pair, making no move to call off her sister.

"Spike's alive," Andrew whispered. "I saw him. Please let me go." Buffy nodded to Dawn, who backed off, but both women stood their ground, very much in Andrew's personal space. Andrew flinched under their twin glares.

Buffy's voice was ice cold, belying the her racing heart and disordered thoughts. "I think you better tell us everything you know."

"Alright, alright," Andrew whined, ducking from under their scrutiny and crossing the room. "Just don't kill me 'til I've finished, OK?" He paused in front of the fireplace, striking a dramatic pose for those who were now watching his every move. "Several months ago I was called to the City of Angels to investigate one psychologically disturbed Slayer. My mission forced me to go deep within the belly of the beast to debrief Angel and company on the Slayer Situation. It was there that I saw him the first time. Spike. Like Gandalf the White, resurrected from the pit of the Balrog." Andrew paused to dab his eyes with a hankie.

"Get on with it, Andrew," grated Dawn.

"Right, right. He had been resurrected, albeit still as a creature of the night, tasked with the sacred duty of helping the helpless. And he asked me to keep his secret. For he is a loner. A troubled hero." Andrew paused for a dramatic sigh. "Living by his own rules. I of course honored his request."

"Let me get this straight, Andrew," said Dawn, "You, who have ruined I don't know how many movies for me because you can't keep your damn mouth shut; you, who spend your spare time trolling the internet for Star Wars spoilers; _you_ kept it a secret that _Spike is alive_? I can't believe this!"

"Forgive me, Dawn. But I made a promise to my Sp-, to Spike." 

"And why wouldn't he want us to know? Or at least Buffy! I mean, how could he not tell Buffy-"

"Where is Buffy?" interrupted Willow, noticing that she was no longer standing in the back of the room.

Dawn turned, and seeing the same thing, ran out into the hallway. She caught up with her sister in the foyer, where Buffy had selected her small carry-on suitcase from their large pile of baggage and was headed toward the door. "Buffy, where are you going?"

Buffy turned and regarded her sister with a gaze that begged for understanding. "L.A."


	2. Chapter 2

_May 20, 2006_

_"Quelque chose à boire?"_

Buffy came out of her reverie and looked up to see an overly-made up flight attendant pressing a cocktail napkin on her. "What?"

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Coffee. Cream, no sugar." Buffy frowned at the napkin embossed with the words Air France. She would have to change planes in Paris and wouldn't be in London before evening. Wouldn't be _home_ before evening, she corrected herself. After almost two years of traveling she had become accustomed to not having a home. It had been an exciting couple of years; she had been to Mongolia, New Zealand, Siberia, New Orleans, Reykjavík, Nigeria and Iraq, to name a few of the highlights. Wherever she went she spent anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, sometimes bringing a girl back to England, sometimes not, sometimes staying in England for several weeks before her next assignment, sometimes not. A number of times, like in Tunisia, she had met a man interesting enough to spend the night with, but in the end she knew that they would part ways. She found it comforting that no matter how much she fucked it up, _she_ would be the one to leave, and probably before she had time to fuck it up too badly anyway. 

Her job during those two years had been to seek out the remaining slayers still scattered throughout the world. While some of the girls had never been tracked down before, many had rejected overtures to come to England for training in those first few months after Sunnydale. Some of the parents didn't like the idea of their daughter living so far away, or they outright denied her sacred calling. Occasionally the girls themselves refused to believe, at least until Buffy tracked down a vampire and put on her patented demonstration for them. If the girl in question still chose not to go to England, then Buffy would stay for some time, giving the best rudimentary training that she could under the circumstances. She knew that even if they rejected their calling now, eventually it would be impossible to resist. Eventually they would start to feel it, the overpowering need to hunt. They needed to be prepared for that or they would die. 

Now though, that part of her life was coming to an end. They couldn't find any more slayers who hadn't already gotten the New and Improved Council pitch. The spell that Willow had cast in Sunnydale wasn't self-perpetuating, so the supply of Slayers was not continuing to renew itself. Any potentials who were too young to be activated three years ago were still just potentials now, she guessed. At any rate, there was no more need for Buffy Summers, World Traveler and Slayer Trainer, so she was hanging up her passport and going back to England. Giles had suggested she become a teacher and councilor at the Slayer school and she had accepted, although deep down she couldn't imagine really settling down there. Maybe she'd go back to California. Or Chicago; she had loved it in Chicago, at least in summer.

After her plane landed in France, Buffy sat in the terminal agitatedly waiting for her flight to Heathrow to board. She swigged her bottled water and flipped another page of the _Elle_ magazine she'd scavenged after someone abandoned it. Horoscopes: she could figure out which one was Aquarius from the pictures, but couldn't get much out of the text predictions. _Vos affaires de coeur prendront les allures d'une tornade_ , she read. While she wasn't sure what it said exactly, it sort of sounded right. Buffy glanced at the gate display, her knee jumping with pent up energy. It was still half a hour until boarding. Her frustrated thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She fished it out of her purse, glanced at the display, and smiled, pressing talk as she plugged in the earpiece. Faith's grinning face popped up on the video display.

"Hey, Faith."

"What's up, B? Where are you right now?"

"Airport in Paris."

"Ooh, Paris. Did you have fun? Do anyone interesting?"

"Actually, this is just a layover; I was in Tunisia. But to answer your questions: yes, I had fun, and yes, I did someone interesting. How's life in Cleveland?"

"Oh, you know, same old shit. Stopped some demons from tryin' to open the Hellmouth the other day."

"When are they gonna learn to stop doing that?" Buffy asked, smiling. 

"Who knows. Listen, I called for a reason. You sittin' down?" It was hard to tell on the tiny screen, but Faith seemed uncharacteristically serious.

"Yeah, I'm sitting."

"OK, here goes. Robin and I are gettin' married." Faith disappeared from the screen briefly, then reappeared with a cigarette in her mouth. She lit it, then looked at the camera. "Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

Buffy closed her wide open mouth with an audible click. "Sorry, I'm just … I'm a world of speechless. Congratulations!"

"I know, I know, before you say it, you never imagined me as the marrying kind. Believe me, I've been trying to tell Robin that, but he finally beat me into submission. With a whip. It was fun."

Buffy laughed. "Thanks for that image. Have you set a date?"

"No, but don't worry, I'll let ya know. May even make you wear a bridesmaid's dress," she said, smirking.

"Oh no. You may not know this, but I officially swore off bridesmaid's dresses a few years back," Buffy replied, laughing. "Seriously, I'm happy for you. Both of you. Is Robin with you? I could congratulate him too."

"Nah, he's out jogging. It's morning here, you know."

"I knew there was something odd. Faith, awake before noon: alert the media."

"Yeah, yeah." Faith took another drag from her cigarette. "People change, I guess. Even us."

"Yeah." Buffy looked up at the monitor again: 25 minutes until boarding. "Listen, my flight's started to board, so…"

"Oh, that's cool. Well, catch ya later then."

"Bye," Buffy said, disconnecting the call. She threw the phone back into her purse and sunk down in her seat. She wouldn't admit to anyone on pain of death how much the fact that Faith was get married irked her. But it irked the hell out of her. She had always sort of depended on the fact that no matter how shitty her own life was, Faith's was worse. Angel left her? Well, at least she wasn't in a coma. Pulled out of heaven by her friends? Well, at least she wasn't in prison. Unable to stay in one place for long and totally disconnected from her friends and losing any hope of being in an actual relationship again? Well, at least she wasn't stuck on the hellmouth in Cleveland. Faith getting married to Robin Wood threw off the math. And besides, _she_ had dated Robin … once, before her vampire not-quite-boyfriend had almost killed him. 

Finally, her row number was called and she dragged herself up to board the plane. She felt worn out and worn down. Maybe it was good that this would be her last trip for a while; being still might force her to take a look at herself for the first time in two years. 

*****

_May 21, 2004: 12:14am_

Buffy got off the plane at LAX and squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, her stomach a tight ball of nerves and her mouth like cotton. It wasn't just the thoughts of what (or who) she might find here that had her nervous; she had never flown alone before this marathon eleven hour flight from London, and she doubted she would ever get used to it. After a few tense hours at Heathrow she had managed to get a stand-by seat on the last evening flight. They took off at 9 p.m., but thanks to the time change had still managed to land in L.A. at midnight. It left her feeling disoriented and strange. Armed with the American Express card that she was forbidden from using for anything but official Slayer business, she approached the rental car counter. Better to be flexible with transportation since she didn't know exactly where she was going.

After signing the rental agreement and initialing here-here-and-here, she asked the bleary-eyed agent if she could borrow a phone book. The listing for Wolfram & Hart in the business white pages was oddly plain, in bold font but otherwise unremarkable. Seemed wrong somehow; it should at least be in red, she thought, maybe with a skull and crossbones symbol. She asked the rental agent for directions to the address and he pointed out the approximate location on the map that came with her packet of rental documents. She thanked him and headed out to the parking lot, trailing her single small carry-on that hadn't been unpacked since the flight from Rome the previous day. She wasn't even sure what was in there, hoping that at least she had toothpaste and a change of underwear.

Once she got off I-110 and into what was obviously the corporate high-rise section of downtown Los Angeles, the streets were close to deserted. No one was doing business at 1 a.m. on a Thursday night, at least not in this part of town. She knew she was getting close so she drove slowly, peering from one side of the street to the other, and almost ran into a temporary barricade that was erected in the middle of the street. _Shit_ , she thought, slamming on breaks. Buffy backed up and pulled over into a parking space, deciding to get out and walk. 

Rounding the corner of the next block, Buffy was confronted with an amazingly incongruous scene, illuminated by the oscillating lights of fire trucks and yellow city construction vehicles. All around were perfect gleaming towers of commerce with their lighted signs and corporate logos and modern fountains and plazas. In the middle of all this polished capitalism was a heap of metal girders and broken concrete and glass that bore only a passing resemblance to a building. The trucks with their flashing lights hovered around the corpse, clearly fighting a losing battle. As Buffy approached the emergency workers, she saw a darkened sign in front of and partially obscured by the heap of wreckage. "am & Hart," it said, removing any doubt as to the owner of the rubble.

"Hi there," Buffy called to the nearest burly man who was standing in the street, staring up at the mess and shaking his head. He turned and watched her approach. "What happened here?"

"You a reporter?"

"No, not a reporter. Just a friend of some people that worked here." She didn't have to pretend to look on the edge of tears. "I'm worried about them."

"Well, this happened late last night, so we don't think there were many people in there. Still searchin' though, just in case. Did find one body just a little while ago." He regarded her for a moment. "Wanna take a look? See if you can ID him?" She nodded, so he waved her over to a coroner's van, where a body bag on a stretcher stood next to a man scribbling on a clipboard. After a brief explanation from Mr. Burly, the coroner unzipped the bag and parted the opening enough to reveal a face and torso. 

Buffy studied him for a moment. He certainly looked like a lawyer, wearing an expensive suit and a conservative haircut. Whether he had been a good guy or a bad guy, Buffy couldn't begin to imagine. She shook her head. "Sorry, I've never seen this guy," she said, shrugging. "You didn't find anyone … or anything else?"

"Not yet, miss."

Buffy thanked them and walked out of earshot, pulling her cell phone out and hitting a button on her speed-dial. After a few rings, she heard Willow's groggy voice. "Hello?"

"Willow, it's Buffy. How are you feeling?"

"A little better." There was a pause. "Are you there? Find anything?"

"You could say that. I've got one high-rise office building, home of the famous Wolfram & Hart, that has been magically converted into a big pile o' rubble. But the building appears to have been empty save for one unfortunate soul, and there's certainly no sign of a demon horde."

"Weird. I don't suppose it could've been an earthquake?" Willow asked.

"Uh huh, earthquake. That completely destroys one and only one building in the middle of downtown L.A.?"

"No, I guess not."

"Listen, do you remember the name of the place where Angel was before he became Chief Evil Officer?"

"You mean the hotel? Sure, it was called the Hyperion. The Hyperion Hotel. It's on Wilshire Boulevard, near West Hollywood."

"Cool. I'll call back if I find anything." Buffy wiped her face with one hand, feeling exhaustion deep in her bones. "Will, do you think it was really him?"

Willow sighed. "Spike? Buffy, I wish I could explain it, but … yes, I believe it was him."

"OK." Buffy sighed heavily. "Get some rest."

Willow laughed grimly. "Count on it. Right now, all I feel like doing is sleeping."

"Bye, Will."

"Bye."

Even at almost two in the morning, traffic was constant on Wilshire Boulevard as Buffy pulled up in front of the old hotel. In the years that Angel had been here she had never visited him. They had seen each other a couple of times in the first year after he left Sunnydale, usually leading to a heaping helping of angst and arguments. After that their lives had diverged more and more, excepting a couple of times that he had swooped into Sunnydale. Their lack of real communication and their past made it that much easier to believe he had questionable purposes for taking over Wolfram & Hart. When it came down to it, she knew almost nothing of his life here. 

The hotel was completed dark, and the heavy front doors to the hotel were locked with a heavy bolt. Breaking in was going to be a trick, assuming she could even find anything here that would help her discover what happened. Buffy started to make her way around the building, looking for a likely way in. She realized how helpless she was here. As big a deal as Angel's battle may have been, L.A. was a big city. In Sunnydale she would've known just where to go and who to beat up to get information. Here she had no idea who to go to. 

As she rounded the corner to the backside of the hotel, she became aware of a smoky, almost sulfurous smell in the air that had been at the edge of her notice since she got out of her car, but now the smell was getting stronger. On her right was a gate that led into the courtyard at the back of the Hyperion. On her left, across the street from the hotel, were several dark buildings, and between two of the buildings, an alley. From her angle she couldn't see into it, but she sensed something that made her cross the street. 

The alley was illuminated by a high streetlight, and the first thing she saw under the light was a severed arm. Based on the size it had to be demon, but still, it was creepy. As she walked in deeper she realized that she was walking through something wet. _Please, let it be just rain,_ she thought. There were other demonic body parts and a few discarded weapons. Dead demons lay to each side, and the smell of their rotting flesh combined with the sulfury smell was pungent. How this could have happened only one day ago and the city around her completely unaware, she couldn't imagine. Buffy was so focused on not stepping in demon goo that she didn't realize there was someone in the alley with her until she was practically on top of him.

The man seemed as startled as she, although the speed with which he picked up a sword and pointed it at her was impressively swift. Man was perhaps the wrong word; he wasn't much older than Dawn. Buffy held up her hands. "Hey, hold on," she said, backing up a step. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Don't you think you're the one who should be worried that _I'll_ hurt _you_?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Look, as long as you aren't tight with all these dead demons, then you and I are on the same side. So why don't we table the threats for the time being, 'kay?"

The boy gave her a long look, then lowered the sword. "Who are you?"

"Buffy Summers. And you are?"

"Name's Connor." He looked at her appraisingly. "You're the Slayer."

"Well, not so much _The_ Slayer any more, but …yeah. That's me. Are you one of Angel's people? Do you know what happened here?"

He looked around at the carnage despondently. "No, I'm not one of Angel's … people. I'm his … I'm a friend. I don't know much, really. I knew something was coming, but he wouldn't…" He dropped the sword in frustration. "He wanted to protect me."

Buffy scrutinized the young man querulously. What was he to Angel? His … what? Protégé? _Lover?_ Buffy tried to reign in her brain before it went even weirder places.

"So who was here? Who fought beside Angel?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't know. I guess Wesley, Gunn … maybe that weird blue chick…"

 _Blue chick?_ "What about another vampire, like Angel?"

"Another vampire? Oh, you mean the blonde guy? The one with the long leather coat?"

Buffy closed her eyes. "Spike?" she said weakly.

"Yeah, that sounds right. I only met him once, but yeah, he might've been here. Although I don't know, he and my f--, I mean, he and Angel didn't seem to get along too well."

Buffy smiled a shaky smile. "That actually makes sense." She pulled a hand through her hair. "OK, fine. Then where do we look?"

He tilted his head and looked at her with sad eyes. "What makes you think there's anyone to look _for_?"

She shrugged. "Right now I'm not going to think about the alternative. Hey, what about a hospital? If the humans were hurt, they might've made it to the nearest hospital. Do you know where that is?"

Connor thought silently for several moments, as if calling up long dead memories. "I think Midway Hospital is closest. It's a couple of miles west of here on San Vicente Boulevard."

"Great." Relieved to have a goal, Buffy started marching out of the alley. She turned and looked back. "You coming?"

The weary night receptionist barely looked at them as Buffy questioned her, typing in the names as she was given them. No, no Wesley Wyndam-Price registered. Yes, there did appear to be a Charles Gunn, but she couldn't release his condition unless they were family and visiting hours didn't start until nine the next morning. Assuming that he was well enough to receive visitors, which given that he had just gotten out of surgery, she doubted.

Buffy looked at the clock on the wall behind the desk: 2:38 AM. She turned away from the desk and pulled Connor aside. "Even if we could sneak in to see this Charles guy, he's probably not feeling really talky right now. Why don't we reconvene here at nine, see what we can find out then." Buffy yawned. It was amazing she could think of sleep at a time like this, but there it was. "In the meantime, I'm going to find a hotel."

"Well, it was touch and go last night. Mr. Gunn had massive internal bleeding, but after several hours of surgery I believe we managed to repair the damage. He has only just regained consciousness, so I'm not sure if he is ready for visitors," the doctor said sternly.

Buffy smiled her sweetest smile and nodded furiously. "I understand that doctor, really I do. But if I could just have a few minutes; it's very important. I'm sure Charles would agree."

The doctor started to protest but was interrupted by the tweeting of his pager. He glanced at it and started off down the hallway. "Fine, fine," he said over his shoulder, "A few minutes." He disappeared around a corner.

Buffy pushed open the door to the room a crack and peeked in. A young black man lay on the bed, his head turned away toward the window. Buffy couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake. She cleared her throat audibly. "Excuse me, Charles Gunn? Can I come in?"

Gunn turned and looked at her with a blank expression. "Do I know you?"

Buffy came into the room a few steps and smiled. "No, I don't think we ever met. I'm Buffy."

The man's eyes widened at that. "Buffy? _The_ Buffy?"

Buffy laughed nervously. "Uh oh. My reputation may be greatly exaggerated." She pulled up a chair toward the side of his bed. "Listen, I know you are probably exhausted and don't feel like talking, but I have to know what happened night before last. I have to try to find-- I have to know."

Gunn swallowed audibly. "I don't know where to start."

"Look, I know this had something to do with a group called the Circle of Black Thorn, right? You guys killed some big bads and stirred up a hornet's nest of evil?"

"Well, that pretty well sums it up, yeah."

"So there was a battle in an alley. I was there last night. I saw the damage you guys did. Impressive. But what about your side? Where are the others?"

Gunn shook his head. "I don't know."

The door opened behind Buffy and she looked up to see Connor duck in. She gave him a small wave and turned back to the bed. "What about Angel?"

"I don't know. I didn't see…"

"Wesley?"

Gunn shook his head. "Wesley's dead. He didn't even make it to the alley."

"Well, who brought you here?" she asked, frustrated.

Gunn closed his eyes. "Illyria."

She looked questioningly at Connor. "She's the blue lady," he supplied.

Gunn looked up at the sound of Connor's voice. "Another mystery guest. You a friend of Buffy's?"

Connor met Gunn's gaze steadily. For the first time, Buffy noticed a depth in Connor's eyes that belied his years. The thought _he's been through hell_ came to her mind unbidden. "You don't remember me," Connor commented. "Guess cause you weren't at Vail's that night. OK. Well. I'm Connor," he said, smirking.

Buffy didn't know what to make of Connor's statements, and she shook her head to clear it. They weren't getting anywhere, and she hadn't asked the most important question. She turned back to Gunn, not sure how to ask what still seemed a surreal question. "Was … was there another … vampire fighting with you?"

"You mean Spike? Yeah, he was there." He was interrupted by a coughing fit, which was obviously very painful. "I don't know what happened to him either, though. Sorry."

Buffy jumped from her seat, incredulous. Everyone here just accepted Spike's presence here as if it was normal, and not the unbelievable miracle that it was. "Look, _Gunn_ , you may not be aware of this, but until recently I thought Spike was _dead_ ," she said, pacing nervously.

Gunn nodded. "I was aware."

She whirled on him. "Well excuse me, but what the hell was going on here? What kept him from contacting me?"

Gunn waved off her verbal assault. "That's something you'll have to ask him yourself, if you can find him."

Buffy pinched the bridge between her eyes, frowning. "How do I find him?" she asked quietly.

"Spike had an apartment that you could check out, but I doubt he'll be there. Our enemies knew where it was." Gunn thought for a minute. "I had some underworld contacts before, people who might have seen Angel or Spike or Illyria if they survived. Might know where they've holed up." He reached for the pad of paper and pen on his bedside table. "Maybe one of them can help you," he said, scribbling on the paper.

Buffy exhaled loudly. "Thank you."

_May 23, 2004: 7:21 am_

It was two long days of questioning, searching, and not a few fistfights before Buffy finally got a lead on someone matching Illyria's description being seen outside some tenement apartments in Glendale. She approached the edifice just as the morning sun was breaking between the buildings. The lock on the front door was broken and the door hung partially open. She had to wrench the door open wider to go through and the rusty hinges squeaked loudly. Buffy stared around the tiny apartment lobby; the mailboxes were broken into and covered with graffiti. She hoped no one human actually was trying to live here. She crept up the stairs to the top floor, figuring that anyone hiding here would want a good view of the area. Buffy wasn't exactly sure what happened next. One second she was leaving the stairwell, the next she being held up against the wall by her neck.

"You must be … Illyria," Buffy gasped. The blue of the woman's forehead bled into her hair like a bizarre infection, and her eyes were a frozen ice blue that were almost hypnotic. 

"You know me. Tell me why I should not kill you here?" she asked in a tightly restrained voice.

"Because I'm not your enemy," Buffy whispered, starting to see stars in front of her eyes. "Please … let me explain."

After a beat, Illyria loosened her grip slightly and Buffy gasped for air. "Who are you?" asked Illyria.

"My name's Buffy. I'm a friend of Angel's. And Spike's."

Illyria's eyes focused on a point far away for a moment, then she regarded Buffy evenly. "You are the ex-lover of Angel and Spike. And a Vampire Slayer. Very curious."

"Yeah, well, I'm a mystery. Look, do you know where they are?"

Illyria let go of Buffy and stepped back. "Angel is dead."

Buffy felt her stomach plummet inside her. "What?"

"Allow me to clarify. Angel was, of course, dead already. He has been destroyed."

"Oh god," Buffy breathed, leaning against the wall.

Illyria's head tilted as if she was scenting something on the air. "This makes you grieve. I grieve for him also, although not as much as I grieve for Wesley."

Buffy shook her head. "What about Spike?"

Illyria contemplated Buffy for another long moment, then replied. "He is here."

Buffy jumped up, torn between joy and sadness. "Please. Please take me to him."

Without a word, Illyria turned on her heel and walked down the hallway. Buffy followed closely on her heels. "He has been through an alteration," Illyria stated. "I have been helping him recover and guarding this place in the event that anyone is looking to do us harm." They approached a door which Illyria promptly opened and walked through. As Buffy followed cautiously, she heard Illyria proclaim tactlessly, "Your former lover the Slayer is here."

Buffy walked into the dirty apartment on shaky legs. Across the room she saw Spike. He was sitting on a cot against the back wall, looking up at her with an expression of surprise. He looked exactly the way she remembered him. He wore a torn black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was the same shade of blonde, though it stood up in tufts the way it did when he raked his hands through it. Spike stood up and approached her slowly, then stopped in the middle of the room. A sunbeam from the uncovered window bathed him in light from head to toe. "Hullo, Buffy."


	3. Chapter 3

_May 21, 2006_

Buffy woke to the morning light on her face. She squinted and rolled over, covering her head with a blanket. It was a month before the solstice, but the sun was already rising pretty early in England. After a few minutes of trying to get back to sleep, Buffy gave up and flung off the covers, swinging her feet around onto the cold floor. The room was tastefully decorated in calming blues and yellows but lacked the lived-in look of a space that anyone inhabited regularly. Too many knick-knacks, not enough of the practical stuff of everyday life. For now she was sleeping in a guest room in the Council house, but she planned on getting an apartment as soon as possible. After that last year on Revello Drive in a house packed to the gills with potential slayers followed by the intervening years of solo travel, Buffy had lost the taste for cohabitation.

A knock on the door seemed to reinforce the point; she got up and grimaced at her disheveled appearance in the mirror before opening the door a crack and peering out. Willow's smiling face peered back.

"Oh," Buffy said, opening the door wider to admit her friend. "I was afraid of who might be waiting to gawp at early-morning-Buffy. As you are already acquainted with her from the days of yore, I'll let you in."

"Thanks," Willow said, stepping over the threshold and holding up one of two oversized mugs of steaming coffee that she was carrying. "I bring offerings to early-morning-Buffy."

Buffy gratefully accepted the mug and sat back on the bed, crossing her legs and snuggling the blanket around her. "I see you're still an early riser."

Willow nodded, sipping her coffee. "Yep. I was out meditating with the sunrise, as a matter of fact. But I don't do that everyday. I can occasionally be sleep-in girl," she added.

"And _I_ can occasionally be watch-the-sunrise girl, but not usually."

Willow dropped into the overstuffed chair by the window. "So, are you excited? We've got an office all ready for you. I thought I could take you over, show you your office, get you acquainted with the schedule and … I'm being too pushy, aren't I?" she realized sheepishly.

"No, no pushy," Buffy said, then sighed. "It's me. I'm not sure how well I'm going to adapt to this … with an office? Offices are for grown-up-type people," she said, pouting in what she knew was her overly cutesy way. "I'm glad that you're excited for me. Eventually I'll be excited for me too, I promise." Buffy looked down at her pajamas. "Just let me get some clothes on and some more caffeine in my bloodstream and I'll be ready for whatever you can throw at me."

Willow stood up. "OK, well, I'll leave you to shower and get dressed and everything. Meet you downstairs in half an hour?"

"So when I got back to my flat, she had the most amazing dinner waiting with candles and the whole deal. Alyssa is an awesome cook. I am going to get seriously fat if we move in together." 

Buffy stopped as they were on their way out of the back entrance of the house and examined her friend. "Move in? You're to the moving in now? Didn't you just meet Alyssa?"

"We've been dating for like six months, Buffy. I know that's not long on a, you know, geological time scale, but still…"

Buffy frowned as they resumed their way out and down the steps. "I didn't think it had been that long. Guess I've been out of touch."

"No, not out of touch! You're totally in touch. It's just time doing that flying thing it does."

"I guess," Buffy said glumly.

Willow preceded Buffy through the garden gate at the back of the grounds and across a small alley. Another less ornate gate led to the plot of land opposite the house, where a large building dominated with sleek glass windows waited. The addition of the Council's second piece of property had made it possible to build a real school building where slayers, watchers, and witches alike could take classes and train. Now that the Hogwarts jokes had mostly died down, the school had settled into a seemingly satisfactory routine for everyone involved, with the Slayers attending a mixture of fighting, tactics, and mundane high school-type courses. 

The tenure of a Slayer at the school had turned out to be extremely variable, depending on the girl. Some only spent a few months there before going back out into the world. Some had been there for more than a year, enjoying the camaraderie and school environment and seemingly in no hurry to go out and put their training into practice. From the beginning, Buffy had championed the idea that the girls be allowed to proceed at their own pace. In the old days, Slayers were thrust into their duty when they were called regardless of their skill or maturity. Some managed to stay alive for several years, but many died within months or even weeks of being called. Thanks to the spell that Willow had done, that didn't have to happen any more. Being a Slayer no longer meant a short and brutal life. 

As they walked down the main hall, Buffy peeked into some of the rooms. She spotted Rona in a training room teaching a group of girls on bright blue mats to fight with the quarterstaff. In a room across the hall, several girls appeared to be participating in a normal classroom discussion led by an older woman that Buffy didn't recall having seen before. As Willow and Buffy rounded the corner at the end of the hall, they almost collided with two men in their early twenties who were each lugging an armload of books.

"Whoa, Brandon, Jeff, watch where you're going, guys!" Willow admonished.

"Sorry, Willow," replied the one on the left. They both gaped at Buffy with thinly veiled interest. In addition to Slayers, the school was also comprised of new Watchers whose studies included demon lore, demon languages, weaponry, and simple defensive spells.

"No biggy. Do you guys both know Buffy Summers?"

"Oh, absolutely!" the one of the right practically squealed. Then he cleared is throat and reached out to shake Buffy's hand enthusiastically. "I think we met once last year when you were in town," he said in a respectably deeper voice.

"Oh?" Buffy replied, a blank smile plastered on her face. She had met a few of the new Watchers on this or that occasion, but she didn't really remember any of them. "You're … Brandon?" she guessed.

"Jeff. Jeff Richards."

"Nice to meet you … again," Buffy said, then turned to the other Watcher. "So then _you're_ Brandon."

"Yes, ma'am, er, Miss Summers. Brandon Langford," he said, shaking her hand timidly.

The two said their goodbyes and scurried down the hall. Buffy rolled her eyes as she and Willow continued on their way. "I see they aren't making Watchers any different these days. And could they have acted more weird with me?"

"Give 'em a break, Buffy, you're like a celebrity to them. Their Watcher curriculum is full of the exploits of Buffy Summers."

"Not too many exploits I hope."

"Well, they do spend a week on your sexual relationship with Spike," Willow said, then dissolved into laughter at Buffy's expression. "Kidding!"

The shock melted from Buffy's face and she grinned a sickly grin. "You know I can kill you where you stand, right?"

"Right," Willow replied. "Here we are!" She pulled out a key ring and unlocked an unmarked door. 

The office that Willow led Buffy into was sunny and warm, due to a large floor-to-ceiling window at the back of the room. The sun was filtered by wide-slat oak blinds. A small desk with an ergonomic chair stood by the window. The office was dominated by two plush brown couches that faced each other. Behind the couches were wall-to-wall empty shelves. 

"Wow," Buffy commented, looking around. "This is … wow. You know I will never in a million years own the books that it would take to fill these shelves, right?"

Willow shrugged and flopped onto one of the couches. "So? Fill them with other stuff. Weapons. Or _objet d'art_. Whatever you like."

Buffy sat on the other couch and punched the pillows. "This is nice. Very nap-worthy."

"Also counseling-worthy, which is why we got them. Figured you could impart your wisdom on the little slayers in a space that makes them feel comfortable."

"Oh, right. My _job_." Buffy grimaced. 

"I happen to have it on good authority that you make a pretty good councilor, Buffy."

Buffy dismissed that comment with a wave of her hand. "That was ages ago. And then there's the teaching that you people expect me to do."

"Just some strategy, or maybe combat courses. You can try different things, see what you prefer." Willow stood up. "Why don't we go see Giles now? We can talk about it in more detail with him."

"Yeah, OK."

As they walked up the stairs to the second floor, Buffy half listened to Willow's description of the daily routine of the school. She felt a little unreal, like she was in a bizarre dream world and would wake up in a familiar hotel room somewhere at any moment. This place, with its polished hallways and eager students, this wasn't where she belonged. She wasn't a teacher, that was for sure. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Willow rapped on Giles' office door several times and they waited, Buffy staring into space while she continued to mentally berate herself. 

After a few seconds, the door opened just wide enough to reveal Giles' frame. "Ah, hello Willow. Buffy! I'd heard you arrived late last night. So good to see you!" In spite of his kind words, Giles made no move toward her, continuing to block the doorway into his office.

"Hey, Giles. What's up?"

"Er, up? Ah yes, well, I've had a rather unexpected visitor this morning."

"Who?" Willow asked.

"Well …" Giles glanced behind him for a moment, then opened the door to his office, gesturing the two women in. 

Buffy marched in and was quickly brought up short. Across the room, Giles' visitor rose quickly from his seat and nodded his head to her in welcome. "Hello, Buffy."

"Hello, Spike."

*****

_May 23, 2004_

It didn't even register at first. Even as her mind was repeating _Spike is alive, Spike is alive_ on a crazy repeating loop, it didn't register. In that context, she later thought, alive meant not burned to ash and buried in the Sunnydale Hellmouth. That's what her frantic brain meant by alive. It didn't mean _alive_.

"How?" she managed to croak out.

He smiled slightly. "There's no short answer to that question, pet."

"Then give me the long answer!" Buffy said, rushing up and taking his hands in her own. She frowned. "You're so warm…" A fresh wave of shock washed over her. "Spike," she gasped, looking up from their hands to his face, registering for the first time the glint of sunlight from the window off his blonde hair, "Spike, you're _alive_."

"So it would seem," he said, dragging his eyes from her face and focusing on some point far in the distance. He backed up then, withdrawing his hands from hers as if the contact was too much.

"What happened? I thought Andrew said ... Please tell me what happened."

"Spike, I am going out to patrol the perimeter. If this Slayer could find us then anyone could." Illyria turned and started toward the door.

Buffy whirled on her. "What do you mean, _anyone_ could? I'll have you know I found this place because someone reported seeing a blue reject from an X-Men comic book stalking around here."

Illyria turned and regarded her with a look that reminded Buffy of a bird contemplating snapping up a worm and bringing it back to its nest. Buffy braced herself for a fight, but instead was met with the disturbing sight of Illyria shifting, no, morphing into someone else. Buffy blinked and found herself looking at a skinny brunette with big brown eyes. She smiled sweetly and said in a soft, Southern-accented voice, "I think this'll be less conspicuous."

"You think?" Buffy responded sarcastically.

"Thought you were done with looking like Fred after Wesley…" Spike trailed off.

"My feelings are a weakness and irrelevant," she replied, her harsh words belying her lilting voice. "I should not draw attention to myself outside." With that she spun and quickly exited the room.

Buffy turned back to Spike. "Nice friends you've got here."

Spike squinted at her. "Illyria saved my life. And Gunn's."

She held up her hand placatingly. "I'm not saying she's a bad person, she's just very, very odd." Running shaky fingers through her hair, Buffy looked at Spike with pleading eyes. "Can you tell me how this happened to you?"

He walked over to the window again, and Buffy was struck by the incongruousness of Spike in a sunbeam. She couldn't fathom why it hadn't hit her immediately. "Where should I start?" he asked.

"How about with how you got out of the Hellmouth? How about how you aren't a pile of ash?"

He shrugged. "Was that amulet, the one you got from Angel. Came from Wolfram & Hart. Guess it was intended to trap him. Instead it trapped me."

"Trapped you? How?"

He turned and looked at her. "A few weeks after Sunnydale, although it felt like no time at all to me, I find myself in Angel's office, all incorporeal and what all."

"A few weeks after … " she gaped at him. You've been back for … for almost a whole year?"

"Told you, I wasn't myself at that point. I was a ghost, or close enough so as to make no difference. Could walk through walls, couldn't pick up anything. Like, for example, a phone. And I couldn't leave bloody Los Angeles."

"Oh. Oh god, what a nightmare."

"Yeah, you're tellin' me, being tied to Angel is no bloody picnic."

"So… Angel knew." Buffy started to pace the room angrily. "He knew that you were back, and, and alive…" 

"Wasn't alive then, Buffy. Wasn't even a vampire. I was nothing. Last thing I wanted was for you…" He shook his head.

"Well you aren't incorporeal now. How--"

He barked out a laugh that brought her up short. "Got a package in the mail, if you can believe that. When it got opened, bang," he said, clapping his hands. "Spike's tangible again."

"And human?"

"No, a vampire like always."

"When did this happen?"

Spike studied the floor. "It was several months ago."

"Months? Several months?" An ache started to form in Buffy's chest. "Why didn't you tell me? Wait. Did Angel stop you, keep you from--"

"No, no." He walked over to the dilapidated table that was the only flat surface in the room and picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes, angrily pulling one out and lighting it. "What was I supposed to say?" he asked desperately. "Hi Buffy, remember how I died to save the world? Well, surprise!" He shook his head.

"Who cares?" she wailed. "I mean, who fucking cares? I thought you were _gone_ , Spike. Forever gone. I mourned you. Do you know what I would've given to know--"

"Buffy, you've moved on. Livin' in Rome, shagging the Immortal--"

"How do you know about that?"

"It doesn't matter. You didn't need me lurking around in your life again."

"Oh my god, you sound just like Angel. Wasn't it up to me to decide whether I wanted you in my life again? Besides, I'm not doing either of those things anymore. I'm not in Rome anymore and I'm not … things with the Immortal are finished." She approached him. "You still haven't told me how this happened," she said, touching his chest for the briefest of moments. "Spike, what happened three nights ago?"

He turned and walked a few steps away, putting distance between them again. "Was Angel's plan. He found out about this Black Thorn crowd, figured out a way to get in, get them to think he was playin' for their team. Did so well he even had some of his own people thinking he'd gone over to the dark side. Then that night, we took 'em out."

"Took them out?"

"Killed all the members. Everyone had an assignment. When we were done, we met in an alley."

"Behind the Hyperion," Buffy said, nodding. "I was there two nights ago. Saw what was left of your opponents."

He waved off her praise. "Don't be so impressed. We had the benefit of the narrow alley; only so many of them could come at us at once. Still, we all would have been dead eventually." He took a pull from his cigarette.

"So why aren't you?"

He shrugged. "You'd have to ask Illyria to really get the details. Best I can remember, I saw Angel go down under a heap of demons. Lost sight of him. I was fighting, gettin' pretty knackered, but I was holding up. Next thing I know, I feel this pain … almost like the chip, but all over. In every molecule of my body, pain. Must've blacked out."

Buffy frowned. "Still failing to grasp how you aren't dead."

"Was Illyria. Managed to haul up both me and Gunn and get out of there. Guess she jumped, scaled the building." He smiled, gesturing with his cigarette. "Used to be she could do this thing, move so fast that it was like time stopped for everyone else, but she can't--"

"And none of them followed you? You were fighting all the demons of hell, you run away, and what? They just shrug and go home?"

"Near as we can figure it, there's no one steerin' the ship just now. These demons we were fightin' were foot soldiers, you know? Need orders from the Big Bad. They may have been operating on some basic instructions at first. 'Avenge our deaths' or some such. But these weren't the guys to formulate a plan."

"And no one's left to formulate a plan?"

"Suppose there's those Senior Partners Angel was always nattering on about, but I never got the impression they worked out of an office downtown. They're on some other plane of existence, right? They must need some … translator or intermediary. Eventually, sure, someone'll fill the power vacuum. But even then, Angel would be the big target, wouldn't he?"

Buffy sat down on the cot. "Is he really gone? Was what she said true?"

"Told you the last _I_ saw of Angel. But I don't have any reason to doubt Blue. She might snap your neck as soon as look at you, but she's not really a liar."

"And the pain you felt?"

"Was this," he said, gesturing to his chest. "When I woke up I was alive. Heart beating, muscles aching, vomiting up blood alive." He strolled to the window and looked out. "Shanshu," he muttered.

"What-who?"

"Never mind."

She took a deep breath and advanced on him again. "Spike, it's just … I mean, this is amazing. Wonderful. I'm so happy for you."

Spike snorted in response.

Buffy frowned. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be human?"

He spun angrily and started pacing the length of the grubby room. "Course it's what I wanted! More than anything. Was a time not so long ago I was willing to kill Angel to get it."

"Willing to kill … I don't understand."

Spike flung his cigarette butt to the floor and stepped on it. "Doesn't matter. It's past history."

Launching herself up from the cot, Buffy quickly closed the distance between them and pulled Spike's rigid body into an embrace. "I wanted this for you too. God, Spike, I lo--"

"Don't," he said harshly, pulling away from her. "I don't need you pity or your gratitude."

"That's not what this is."

"No?"

"No. Spike, I know you didn't believe it when I said it in the Hellmouth. But _now_ , now that you're human--"

"Now that I have a pulse you can bring yourself to love me?"

"I loved you _before_ , Spike. I-- I know I didn't express it right, or say the right things until it was too late--"

"'Why does it have to mean anything?' is what you said, as I recall."

Buffy bristled. "Well excuse me for not being capable of starting a relationship in the middle of an apocalypse."

"But that's just it, Buffy. It's never the right time. Our line of work, something's always going to hell in a handbasket. You wait for the right time, it'll never come. Sometimes you just have to say hell with it, we may die tomorrow, so what, let's live for today."

"It isn't always that easy. There are responsibilities..."

"Yes, Buffy, I'm well aware. You have a mission, and the mission comes first. Believe me, I get that, and I don't fault you for it. It's who you are."

"Oh, cut the crap. Spike, why are you being this way? Why are you pushing me away?"

"I'm not, it's just... Do you seriously think that after everything, all the horrible things we've done to each other, that things will be all flowers 'n candy now? You think me being human suddenly makes everything OK?" 

"No! Stop putting words in my mouth."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And if I had died and Angel had ended up with the prize, would you be standing here with _him_ now?"

"How dare you?" Buffy spat. "You think the two of you are just ... interchangeable to me?"

"Hmm, well, based on past experience, yes."

"That's not fair."

"I mean, you may not have beat Angel up as much as you did me, but I'll chalk that up to your youth and inexperience at the time with giving and receiving pain." Spike stalked over to the table and angrily shook another cigarette out of the pack.

"So that's what this is?" Buffy shouted. "You plan to stand there with your shiny new humanity and enumerate all of the ways that I _done you wrong_ back then? Do you really want to get in a pissing contest over who hurt who more? We can start with the way I refused to believe you loved me, move on to the way you tried to convince me I came back wrong, spend some time on all the times I used you for dirty, kinky sex, and finish up with you trying to rape me."

Spike stood with his back to her and exhaled a gout of smoke. "Just making my point for me, love. You and me are bad news." He turned and regarded her coldly. "Think it's best we just move on with our lives, ain't it?"

"Of all the ... You think you're so morally superior to me now?"

"That's the last thing that I think."

"You didn't even have the common decency to let me know you were _in the world_. You didn't respect me enough to think that I would give a damn."

"No, I just thought you were _better off_ ," Spike yelled.

"Maybe I just don't do it for you any more, is that it? Not really the Chosen _One_ anymore, am I? You need someone who can be more dark and twisted. Like that Illyria? Are you doing your 'moving on' with her?"

"Not sure how that's even your business, Slayer."

Buffy stared at him. "I guess it isn't my business." She turned and walked away from him, tears stinging her eyes. "Goodbye, Spike."

The park was a few blocks away. It wasn't a nice park, at least, not anymore. There were muddy tire tracks through the weed-infested grass. The first two benches Buffy stumbled past were occupied with sleeping homeless people. Not far off, three men huddled together, no doubt doing their part to support the U.S. drug trade. One of them had regarded Buffy for several long seconds, but either decided that the crying blonde was no threat or that she was too much of one. Given the presence of Illyria in the neighborhood, the latter was a possibility. Buffy slumped down onto the third bench she came to, tears effectively blurring her vision.

It was unbelievable and yet so typical of her relationship with Spike, she thought. Only they could take what should have been a heartfelt reunion and twist it into a bitter argument. Really all it had lacked was a fistfight and inappropriate sex for it to be vintage Buffy and Spike. So they had a lot of baggage. She got that. And given her capacity for saying the wrong thing and hurting him, maybe he had a good reason for hiding from her all this time. Except, no, he really didn't. If he didn't want to see her, that would have been fine … well, not _fine_ , but she would've respected it. She would've settled for knowing that he was back, no matter what form he was in.

But that was bullshit too. She would've stormed into L.A. and damn the torpedoes if she had known. Probably would've found a way to hurt Spike _and_ Angel while she was at it. 

Buffy looked up and was unsurprised to see him approaching. Hadn't he always needed the last word when they argued? She watched him close the gap between them with what she hoped was an impassive expression, but she felt her shoulders tense as he got closer. 

"I'm sorry," he said.

"OK." She continued to meet his gaze unflinchingly for a few seconds, then relented. "Wanna sit?"

He complied, carefully looking anywhere but at her. "Illyria and me … we're just friends. Or rather, allies. There's nothing between us, never has been." Buffy took that in without response. He paused before continuing. "Should've told you that I was back a long time ago. Lord knows I rehearsed it enough."

"Well, it's probably what Angel would've done in your shoes," she replied. "You guys had quite a bit in common."

"You better bloody well take that back!"

Buffy smiled a tiny smile, then regarded his profile silently for a moment. "What are you going to do now?"

He shook his head. "Don't know. Don't know who I am. Don't know what I'm supposed to do with this … life. I know I've got a lot to figure out. And I know I have to do it alone."

She frowned. "Alone?"

He turned to look at her for the first time since sitting down on the bench. "Buffy, being around you is like being too close to the sun. You shine so bright, I have to squint my eyes up tight just to be near you. I lose sight of everything else. I lose sight of myself."

"So, you go and figure out who human Spike is," she said with a tremulous smile. "And when you've figured that out, when you've finished baking, maybe …" she trailed off, hating herself for sounding so desperate.

His head dropped into his hands and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Buffy, when I love someone, I love them with every fiber of my being. With every nerve. Every inch. It's the only way for me." He looked at her with open eyes, head tilted slightly to the side. "I need that same kind of love in return. I need to be needed." He looked away in the distance, leaving the rest unsaid. 

Buffy stood, fighting to hold onto her remaining dignity long enough to finish this horrible conversation. "I guess that's my cue to leave you to it, then," she said softly.

He looked at up at her with pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry--"

" _Don't_." She expelled a breath. "Just … good luck with your life. I hope--" Her throat closed off and she swallowed, willing the tears not to fall. Before he could say anything else, she turned and walked out of the park.


End file.
